“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have the checkbook. The only time it leaves the store is if the bookkeeper has it.” Mason’s clipped tone expressed his irritation.
Well, Hell’s Bells. I didn’t know what to think. One of them was trying to play me for a fool.
“Like I mentioned earlier, you gentlemen are welcome to continue this discussion next door,” Darby said.
Fluffy let out a huge sigh and leaned her long body against Darby’s legs. The Afghan hound could not have looked any more bored. Darby patted her head gently and murmured something to her.
Grey abruptly checked his watch. “I have an appointment across town. Mason, once you return the original, I will give you a full refund. Don’t try to fool me again. You won’t get away with it.”
Mason’s face burned crimson. I could almost feel the heat of his anger radiating from him.
“We’ll see who gets away,” he muttered.
Grey moved from behind the counter and walked toward the door. As he passed Mason, Mason reached into the pocket of his wrinkled pants.
My heart raced. “Grey,” I yelled.
Grey whipped around ready to defend himself. Mason jumped, startled. His cell phone dropped from his hand, slapping the hardwood floor.
Well, that couldn’t have been any more awkward. I guess all the break-ins had me more on edge than I realized.
“What did you think I was going to pull out of my pocket?” Mason angrily snatched up his phone and inspected it.
I couldn’t get my breath to push past the lump in my throat.
“Obviously, she thought you had a gun, you yahoo,” Betty said from across the room.
The two teens Betty had loaded up with a basket of merchandise stood frozen, eyes wide, their gazes zipping back and forth between me and Betty. They looked horrified. I felt the same. I wasn’t even sure how to save this one.
I cleared my throat and found my voice.
“Free dog treats, everyone?”
IT WAS EARLY evening when I pulled in to my driveway, turned off the Jeep’s engine, then rested my head against the hard steering wheel. I had survived the day from hell. It wasn’t the worst day I’d ever experienced. I mean, there were no dead bodies, so technically it could have been worse. But it was still a bad day.
I had three things on my mind to end the day on a positive note: cuddling with Missy, a large glass of red wine, and a hot bath—not necessarily in that order.
I grabbed my Chloé tote, got out of the car, and made my way to the house. There was still plenty of sunlight so I could take Missy for a quick walk before I shut down for the night and soaked in the tub. I opened my front door and practically fell into the house, tripping over Missy. Before I could close the door, she barreled past me, tongue hanging out of her mouth, and into the front yard.
“Whoa! Get back in here,” I shouted.
Missy charged down the sidewalk, past the next-door neighbor, like a prisoner escapee.
I tossed my purse onto the couch and then raced after my crazy dog.
The nice thing about bulldogs: they don’t run very fast, and they burn through their energy quickly. Worn out, Missy dropped under a eucalyptus tree just two houses up the street.
“What’s wrong with you?” I asked when I reached her.
Pant, pant, pant.
“Why are you being so naughty?”
Pant, pant, pant. Snort.
She hadn’t acted this poorly since she was a pup. I squatted next to her and stroked her back. She rolled over, offering her soft belly for a rub or perhaps an apology. My heart rate slowed down as I petted her. We both sighed.
“Are you ready to go home?” I asked softly.
She got to her feet and shook.
I smiled. “All right, let’s go.”
Feeling guilty for being gone so long and not taking her to the shop with me, I picked her up and carried her home. Forty pounds of solid bulldog—I considered it my upper body workout for the day.
Once we were inside the house, with the door closed, I set her down. She immediately bumbled over to her dog bowls in the kitchen. While she chomped her kibble, I refilled her water dish.
I kicked off my flats, shoving them under a bar stool. The hardwood floor felt cool under my bare feet. One of the best things about living alone was you could leave your belongings wherever you wanted.
I grabbed a bottle of red wine off the rack on the counter and pulled a wine glass out of the cupboard. I uncorked the bottle and filled the glass. I took a long drink, savoring the warmth that traveled down my throat. Check off the first item from my to-do list for the night.
Missy was still chowing down, so I decided to draw a bath. We could cuddle on the couch later. I topped off my glass and then made my way to the master bathroom. I took one step into my room and almost choked on my wine.
It looked like a tornado had blown through. Missy had eaten her way through a box of facial tissues until only wet remnants of blue papers were strewn across the carpet. The stack of “to-be-read books” on my nightstand had been knocked off onto the floor. My treasured collection of designer shoes had been terrorized. I picked up my favorite pair of Stuart Weitzman motorcycle boots. I felt sick. One boot had become a leather chew toy and was beyond repair. What had been a positive, leaving my belongings anywhere I wanted, had suddenly become an opportunity for naughty bulldog behavior.
Missy toddled behind me and burped loudly. I stared her down. She licked her lips, not looking the least bit ashamed of the war zone she’d created in my bedroom.
I choked back my frustration. “Why can’t you sleep at home like you do at the shop?”
My boots were beyond saving. I closed my eyes as I tossed them into the trash. It hurt to admit, but her bad behavior was due to my decision to keep her home. She didn’t understand the change in her routine, and I hadn’t prepared her well. She missed me, missed the shop, and she was bored.
Missy had found her way to the bed. After a prolonged downward dog stretch, she lay down with her head between her paws, content to watch me clean up her crime scene. I was in the midst of gathering the scattered mystery books and stacking them on top of my nightstand when I heard the faint ringing of my cell phone. My tote was still on the couch where I’d left it, phone inside. I ignored the call and continued to collect half-eaten tissues.
It wasn’t but a minute later when the phone rang again. Whoever it was calling was persistent. I headed for the living room. I heard Missy jump down from the bed and follow me. I pulled my cell from my purse and checked the caller ID. Mama. We hadn’t talked for almost a month. A blissfully drama-free month. I loved my mama, and I knew in her way she loved me, too, but our relationship was . . . complicated.
I answered my phone. “Hey, Mama.”
“Is that your lovely voice, Melinda Sue? I wasn’t sure for a minute. It’s been so long since we’ve talked. Bless your heart for calling to let me know you’re still alive.” Mama could be charming while simultaneously disagreeable.
Where was my wine? “If I was dead, Betty would have called you.”
She sucked in a breath. “That’s not funny, Melinda.” If my Mama was Catholic, I imagined this was when she’d cross herself and glance heavenward praying for my damned soul.
I curled up on the couch, patting the cushion next to me, inviting Missy to join me. “How are you? How’s Daddy?”
“Your daddy is working too hard. He’s been saying he’s fixin’ to retire for two years now, but he keeps scooting off to the office every morning.”
I tried to imagine Jack Langston retired. I drew a blank. “What would he do?”
There was a dramatic pause on the other end of the phone. Now I’d stepped in it. The real reason for her call. I braced myself for whatever was about to happen.
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“He could take me to visit my only grandbaby.” She managed to sound defiant yet offended at the same time.
Since I wasn’t pregnant nor adopting, she had to be talking about my brother Mitch and his wife Nikki. A much-needed smile blossomed across my lips. I was going to be an auntie. “Mitch and Nikki are having a baby? When?”
I could hear her moving items around. Slamming drawers. Possibly packing?
“Last month.”
“Oh,” I said softly. Missy rested her head on my feet.
Mama was fired up, and for once it was possible she wasn’t overreacting. I had a feeling I knew the answer, which would explain this call, but I asked anyway.
“Mama, forgive me for asking a sensitive question, but how long have you known about the baby?”
“Eight minutes,” she declared, her Texas drawl more pronounced than I’d heard in a while. “I withered in pain for twenty-eight hours in labor with Mitch. The least he could do is invite me to the birth of my first grandbaby. But he kept me away. Am I so awful that he needed to keep me in the dark about something so important? At least they had the decency to return to the states and not have my grandbaby in London. My goodness, I had no idea Nikki was even pregnant. Why does your brother hate me?” She hiccupped, choking back tears.
It didn’t matter what the situation was about; when it came down to it, in the end, it was always about Mama, which was probably why Mitch had waited to share his good news. The minute Mama had learned of Nikki’s pregnancy, Mama would have flown to England and been standing at their front door, ready to take over.
“No one hates you,” I reassured her.
She collected herself. “Tell me the truth. I can take it. Did you know about the baby?”
“No. They didn’t mention the baby in any of their emails. You know Mitch is like me. We like . . . privacy.” It was the nicest way I could say that we had moved thousands of miles away from her because she was nosey. Bossy. Controlling. Although I was a tad hurt they’d kept me in the dark too, I tended to believe it was so I’d have plausible deniability once they did tell our mother.
“I am your mama. You don’t get to have privacy from me.”
And that attitude explained it all. “So when are you leaving?”
“I’m not going anywhere. They’re coming home for a visit. I’ve already called Hector to design a nursery. I was thinking all white, with gold accents. Lace of course. Maybe velvet.”
There was no stopping her. If daddy was a workaholic now, he’d pick up two new projects to stay out of the line of fire during the nursery remodel.
“When are they coming?”
“The end of the month. You need to come home too. This is important. Don’t break your daddy’s heart.”
My mother had been working me to come home for a visit for the past two years. Each time she’d bring up disappointing my daddy. I’d managed to come up with an excellent excuse each time. So good, in fact, that one day Mama just appeared on my doorstep. Technically, it was Grey’s doorstep, but it still wasn’t in Texas. This was probably the only way she’d get me to come home.
I loved my brother. I loved my sister-in-law. And I loved my . . .
“Do I have a niece or nephew?”
Mama’s voice softened. “Girl. Elmsly Tillie Langston.”
My brother had named his daughter after our Grandma Tillie. My heart swelled with love for my niece. I had so much to teach her. “Yes.”
I was greeted with silence. “Did you just agree?”
I laughed so loudly, Missy picked her head up and stared at me. “Yes, I did. I’ll come home to the great state of Texas to meet my niece.”
“Melinda Sue, you better not be teasing me. My heart couldn’t take it.” I could hear tears catch in her throat. “Are you really coming home?”
“A visit. It’s just a visit,” I clarified. “Don’t get any ideas, Mama.”
“I’ll have Daddy send the jet for you—”
Good grief. She just didn’t slow down. “No, no, no. I’ll drive out and bring Missy. I won’t stay long. I do have a business to run.” I needed to talk to Betty to work out some type of schedule for the shop. Darby might be willing to help out, too.
“That’s why you hired that Betty woman. Bring Grey along. He can help you drive.”
“Mama!”
“Okay, okay. I thought he would have come to his senses by now.”
We ended the call on a positive note. It was a nice change. Hmm . . . maybe I needed to rethink my resistance regarding Grey using my shop as his operations base. I could do him a favor and in return, ride herd on Betty while I was gone.
The end of the month was less than two weeks away. Certainly I could take being in close quarters with Grey for ten days? Grey was a stand-up guy. Any ground rules I laid out, he would follow.
What could possibly go wrong?
I AWOKE THE NEXT morning with a plan to talk to Darby about my unexpected trip to Dallas, and the probability of Grey spending a significant amount of time at the shop. Betty’s unpredictability was the key to bringing it all together. While that worked as a cover for Grey, it made me nervous for what mischief Betty might whip up, unbeknownst to Grey in my absence. I needed to cover my bases by asking Darby if she could help, too. Not long ago, I was gone for only two days, and Betty managed to order four thousand dollars’ worth of dog sweaters. Her heart was in the right place trying to help me replenish our inventtory, except it was July. We still had unsold merchandise.
Betty had been scheduled to open today, but once again she had a personal errand and needed me to cover. She’d also sent me a text reminding me to pick up a couple of bottles of hand sanitizer from the drug store. She was purposely confused as to who was in charge.
I stopped by the Koffee Klatch to grab drinks for Darby and myself before making my way to Darby’s studio. Paw Prints was just as unique as she was. I loved the unfinished warehouse, perfect for a variety of photo shoots, storing an abundance of props and equipment, and a lobby, which she had designed and staged like a Victorian-era parlor.
When I arrived, Darby was editing photos. I joined her in the makeshift office, a square card table and metal folding chair temporarily planted in the lobby. Since she did the majority of her editing at home, she insisted setting up the card table sufficed for those times she edited at the studio. I kept trying to convince her to build an actual office, but she hadn’t been convinced.
Darby accepted the caramel latte I offered her. She plucked off the lid and sniffed the hot liquid. “It smells delicious. You’re a life saver.” She tossed the lid in the trash before taking a sip.
I dropped my tote bag on the velvet couch and settled in. Or at least tried to. The thin cushion wasn’t much padding against the mahogany frame. “You know, this isn’t very comfortable.” I searched the studio. “Speaking of uncomfortable, where’s Fluffy?”
“She’s with the trainer auditioning for a Disney movie. If she gets the role, filming starts next month.”
“Really?”
Darby tossed me a flippant look over her shoulder. “Don’t sound so excited. It’s only for a few days.”
Fluffy was an award-winning dog actor. I always said “dog actor” with a British accent, because it sounded pretentious—just like Fluffy. Darby inherited the snooty Afghan hound shortly after moving here from Omaha. I will admit, since the two had been together, Fluffy had dialed back her snobbery.
“Hey, if she gets the part, any chance she can introduce Betty to a few human stars?”
Darby laughed lightly. “I’ll see what I can do.” She turned her attention back to her computer. “So, I was surprised to see Grey at your shop yesterday.”
“You weren’t the only one,” I muttered. I kicked off my flats then tucked my feet underneath me. I shifted, attempting
to get comfortable. “You really need a different couch.”
She raised her brow. “I didn’t realize you were seeing each other again.”
“Me and the couch?” I could tell by her blank expression, she wasn’t impressed with my humorous deflection. “We’re not.”
Darby turned in her chair and faced me. “I see. Did you leave Missy home again?”
I wasn’t fooled. Her change in topic was only temporary. She wasn’t about to let me off that easy. Not when it came to Grey.
“Yeah. But she’s struggling. And I’m feeling really guilty.”
“Separation anxiety?”
I nodded. “For both of us.” I sighed. “She chewed my motorcycle boots yesterday.”
Darby’s eyes widened. “Oh, no.”
“My favorite pair. I feel like I should have held a funeral before I tossed them.”
“Poor thing. Missy must have been really stressed out.”
“It’s my fault. I’ve got to figure something out.” I took a sip of my chai latte.
“If you were my client, I’d recommend that you contact Caro.” She paused when I choked on my drink. “But since you and your cousin aren’t speaking, you could ask Colin to take on Missy.”
I ignored her Caro reference. “Colin?”
Darby blushed. “Remember that blind date I went on a few weeks ago? Well, we’re still seeing each other.”
I smiled. “So it’s going well enough you’ll let me meet him? Are we instituting the best friend stamp of approval plan?”
She shook her head with a laugh. “While a second opinion is typically good, I just thought he could help you out.”
“Is he a dog behaviorist?”
“A dog sitter. He has a website, Dog Days. He’s actually really good with Fluffy.”
“Really? Does she know that?”
“Eh . . .” She twisted her lips. “She doesn’t hate him.”
“Well . . .” I laughed. “He must be a winner then.”
Her face lit up as she spoke. “He has the best Golden Retriever, Bryan Goosling. He’s adorable and acts like he has no idea he’s a dog.”
The Dogfather Page 3